


History in Hand, You wait for the Knife

by MagsyB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, Old Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagsyB/pseuds/MagsyB
Summary: Prompt from tumblr:6. Letter found in an old notebook





	

–

He didn’t understand why he had took it. Not at first at any rate.

 

He had been holed up in Molly’s flat after the fall, and simple boredom had lead to him rifling through her things. From pictures to movies, to books. He had found it tucked away in an old notebook filled with notes on the human body.

 

The envelope was yellowed with age, and had, what appeared to be dried blood across a faded address. He was unsurprised to have found that Molly had kept such a letter, but was more surprised at where he had found it.

 

The sentiment behind the letter meant nothing to him at the time. It was more of a curiosity he wanted sated.

 

But now as he sat with the letter clutched within his hands nearly four years after the fall, after his homecoming and resurrection, after all the trials and tribulations, he finally was beginning to understand. Sentiment.

My Dearest Heart,

 

I hope you forgive the page upon I write, paper is a scarce treasure now that we hoard. To write home is a reward for our hardened days, and to hear from home is an even more precious commodity unto which we cling desperately to our chests. Especially now. For it seems the war is never ending. This pen and page my only solace, my lifeline to you. That you read my words just as hungrily as I gaze upon your letters, lightens my heart. Though, I should confess, any thought of you, no matter how small still has the ability to make me smile.

 

Though smiling is in rather short supply nowadays. I don’t mean for that to sound as if I do not think of you often. For it is only the thoughts of you that are getting me through this war. But it is hard to think of one’s joy when you see nothing and live nothing but death day in and day out. To know that one day I could smile with you again, that hope is what I write to you of. and one I think you share. It is a fool’s dream to be nothing but happy. And perhaps I am a fool for thinking that one day I could. But if anyone could help me forget these nightmares I see everyday it is the angel who owns my heart.

 

Please forgive my maudlin ramblings, I cannot seem to write of anything else. Just know that I love you, and I miss every aspect of you.

 

Yours Forever,

Terrance

 

 

Terrance Wallace Hooper. Molly’s grandfather. It was odd how he had captured words so perfectly of how he had felt. How he still feels.

 

To be so free in communicating how he felt, it was a freedom Sherlock longed he could possess.

 

Molly had been his angel more than once, sweeping his nightmares aside with nothing but the memory of her face. To have missed her desperately while he was away, and miss her even more when he came back to find her engaged to another.

 

He had been a fool to leave without her knowing. He had been a fool to leave without him knowing how he truly felt.

 

The feelings had been there all along, it just took him forever to know.. to realize what he had felt.

 

And now as he sat in the waiting room of St. Bart’s Emergency Ward, clinging to this letter, he wished she knew.

 

It was as if Moriarty had won. His heart tearing out of his chest as he awaited word.

 

She had saved his life again, but as his tears stained the paper beneath his fingers, he prayed that she hadn’t. Not if it meant a life without her in it.

 

Folding the letter up, he looked across the room to John and Mary.

 

They gave him the smallest of smiles, filled with worry and sadness.

 

She has to live. He thought desperately, clinging to the hope that she would understand. That she would know how much he loved her. As deep as the love that was clearly written across yellowed pages, he loved her. And she had to know.


End file.
